


Lifetime Dealings

by BumbleBooty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Multi, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Rare Pairings, Snippet Style, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BumbleBooty/pseuds/BumbleBooty
Summary: Swindle has always thought of himself as a businessman- and every businessman knows that the only constant of the market is that it will change.Over the Vorn, he has realized this also holds true to war... and most mecha.
Relationships: Combaticons/Prowl (Transformers), Prowl/Swindle
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Price of a Praxian

**Author's Note:**

> A challenge from my lovely Swerve! This took literally more than a year, but this was a fic I greatly enjoyed writing!
> 
> (I am really sorry this took so long though, sooo.. enjoy the multi chap lmfao?)
> 
> This is in a snippet style, so there will be alternating POVs and time jumps between and within chapters. I will do my best to make it obvious when the particular bit is happening!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swindle does some daydreaming, and his processor wanders to the new SIC of the Autobots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, Vortex is not asexual- he just has an *Extremely* low interface drive. 
> 
> His hobbies include maiming, killing, and judging the form of his gestalt mates. He offers critiques to the 'worst' when they're too tired to actually listen, much to the amusement of the rest. 
> 
> His other favorite past time is refusing to repeat these critiques when they are conscious.

Now, If there is anything that I have ever learned in my life, it's that there's always time for commerce!

Confections, Cloth, Decorations, Furniture, Jewelry, Artworks, Engraving, Paint, Covers, Ammunition, Weapons, and even the _oh so pricy_ Upgrades! All have their place in the sellable world, whether that be through the legal or... _less_ legal means.

For whatever you have, there's a buyer ready to shell out.

And sometimes, those buyers are _oh so nice_ to look at!

Mecha like Megatron? Not bad on the optics. Being in my particular gestalt has definitely given me an appreciation for the working builds- those strong shoulders, those rough hands- all worthwhile for a good frag every now and then if my price is too high for a product.

Starscream was an interesting roll in the berth, but the stamina of a flyer isn't worth the required preening that comes after.

But... there is an appeal to the "good bots" as well.

Jazz? A rare but delicious treat, even if I'm not allowed to touch that gorgeously made visor of his... or move my hands, but that's more to do with his requirements for personal safety and ability to tie knots than his desire to not be touched.

I vaguely remember a night with the split spark twins, but the blown circuits and questionable memory loss are more than enough of a reminder of why they should be taken with caution.

Also, the devastation they caused with the arms they purchased was more than impressive, and Megatron was...admittedly less than thrilled.

All in all, everyone has purchased from me at some point.

Even _Optimus Prime_ has requested emergency supplies, but sadly has always paid out whatever ridiculous cost I listed.

But...

There is one bot I desire who outright refuses to purchase my wares!

Of all the people fighting this war, it's the one that would benefit the _most_ , as well!

The rising star of the Autobots- the new SIC.

 _Prowl_.

From the first moment I laid optics on him, I knew I wanted him more than I had ever wanted another mecha before.

That bumper, that waistline, that _gorgeously_ crimson Chevron, and by Primus' will those _doorwings!_

Those alone are such an invasive, elaborate system- I still can't even fathom why that kind of expense became a standard for a frame type!

Then there's the fact he's an _enforcer model._

Now, I've had my romps with Barricade, so I'm not entirely clueless on the Praxian frames... however, the differences between a military shock trooper and a high-endurance field enforcer are too numerous to count.

I can feel my tanks churn with delight when I think of how much he would fetch in a pleasure ring. That initial sale alone would fetch a lifetime of leisure!

Even if he wasn't sold, having a single night with him would be as though I was one with Primus once more.

All the demanding confidence of Megatron, the intelligence of Soundwave, the endurance of a Seeker, and wit all his own. If I'm lucky, those days on the streets of Praxus will have also left him with a firm hand to keep me pressed against the sheets.

Even then, would one night even be enough? What if I couldn't let him go?

How hard would he be to keep?

What kind of padding would I need on the walls to keep his voice a secret from the rest of the Nemesis? To silence those Howler systems through the subfloor? What type of barring would I need on the door to keep that reinforced plating inside? What kind of polish to keep him shiny? What kind of Energon is his preference? How much would I need to make him comfortable, let alone desire me?

...How hard would the Autobots fight to get him back?

The cold, calculating tactician isn't exactly the most popular of the bots, but he is without a doubt the most _useful_.

How effective would a faked death be? Would I have to mar his plating to do it? Is that kind of damage to such exotic and rare nanites even worth the _cost?!_

So many things to consider, but I haven't even been able to call him mine for a _single **night!**_

But whatever I think of the chance of delight with his frame on my own, those gorgeous optics only care for the data...

Sadly, that data says I'm too high a risk for business.

I know I had sighed again when Vortex snorted a laugh.

Admittedly this is not the first time I had caught myself thinking about the price of a Praxian, and it often led to a round of insults- which I know are about to start flying, because Vortex's mouth just moved. Fantastic.

"Swindle, if you're going to spend so much time thinking of how wonderful a Praxian is, go frag Barricade again."

...Okaaay... Skipping that part alltogether then?

"And why on Cybertron would I want to do that? Who said it's the frag I'm thinking of?"

Onslaught chuckled from across the room. "Oh, come now! You forget we're bonded sometimes, don't you? We can feel how much you want to pull a pair of doorwings-"

"That's not what's interesting, you glitched turborat!"

His plating bristled. Good. Fragger needs to mind his own business.

Sadly it didn't stop his lip.

"Pathetic! Besides, what's so nice about a Praxian anyway? Why Prowl? You literally have access to Barricade whenever you want thanks to that stockpile of ammunition you got last week! You _know_ it's his _favorite!"_

I could feel my own plating ruffle.

"What amazes me is that _processor!_ By the pits he is undeniably attractive, but think of the profit that could be made even by just dismantling him! If not for parts alone, for all the rarity and attraction of a birthed and bred Praxian?!"

Vortex laughed again, but the unhinged edge in his laugh usually meant we were in for a treat.

"I mean... if he is alive, think of the enforcement coding locked in that one. Barricade was just a shock trooper..." Vortex drug the tip of his right thumb claw over the tips of the others on that same servo- a habit that he picked up in a failed attempt to curb the urge to sink those same claws into something he wanted.

Such a strange thirst to destroy what is beautiful.

"I mean... Prowl has to be a hard Dom judging from the unapproved plans that Ravage recovered recently."

There was a quiet invent from across the room, but I didn't think to look at who it was. "...and imagine the frustration of being trapped with the petrorabbit tufts that run the Autofluff, and their need for maximum survival."

It was strangely quiet as everyone processed what he just said.

Vortex? Acknowledging _sexuality?_

How...rare. Usually he just wanted the final yowls a mech could surrender to assist his memory file later.

"Later" could be six orn to half a millennia. He was a mech of his own schedugle.

I could feel the tendril of curiosity extend out through the bond, drawing Blast Off and Brawl closer. It's not everyday our sexual sadist will entertain a thought with us. I could feel the grin sliding across my face.

"You know.... that does bring an interesting point..."

For once, there was silence in our shared quarters.

"Which subset does his coding run? With the way he carries himself, he might have even bore a spark before..."

Suddenly Onslaught was beside me. "There's no way he's carried. At most, he adopted that chatty sniper."

Plating flared in amusement as we waited for him to continue. Onslaught shifted slightly as his own plating ruffled.

"Don't look at me like that, he's got too much aggression in his tactics and too little animation in his wings to ever stand the needs of a bitlet. Also, he was a _field unit._ They dont have time for bitlets! The sniper's useful, so the tac-net might make him worth the effort."

The grunt that suddenly sounded to my right startled me, but Brawl paid it no mind as he readjusted his shoulders. "Can you imagine that lil' mech laden and attached to a bit?"

The silence was resounding, right up until the awkward shifting of plating.

Then Blast off huffed, trying his best not to fluff his plating to show how the arousal through the bond was making his panels heat. "Doesn't even matter, not like he will ever be in our berth."

I shared half a glance toward Brawl, who was already launching himself across the table to accost our gestalt mate with an amused shout of 'Well I am!'.

Onslaught rolled his optics when Vortex joined Brawl and Blast Off on the floor for his usual critique of interfacing form, but didn't brush off either my knowing smirk or the servo that crept up his thigh. 

A very good orn indeed. 


	2. Grab and a Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quiet night in with the Gestalt after Swindle gets his aft kicked.

Swindle was undoubtedly pouting.

And even worse, his gestalt mates knew it!

Blast Off was _living_ for it.

He was just sitting there!

_Staring!_

_With that **smirk!**_

Groaning, Swindle's helm touched the area of the desk that was not covered by his arms as his bronze bonded braced his elbows on the table. Resting his head on the heels of his palms, tapping the tips of his digits under his optics, and tapping the tip of his left pede behind the heel of his right pede, Swindle knew Blast Off was grinning behind his blastmask. 

"Sooo... Wanna explain how you got an acid pellet in yer aft?"

_"No."_

"You sure?"

_"Yep."_

"That's a shame, 'cause I want to know."

"That sucks for you."

His doom arrived on the shiny rotors of Vortex, who achieved a rather smug look without the need for lip plates.

" _Weeeell_ , I gotta give you props for going for the doorwing Swindle! I recommend grabbing _harder_ and **_pulling_ **if you're going to try to remove it!" His laughter resounded around the room as Swindle sank further into his arms with a groan.

Vortex' engine purred as both hands were placed on Swindle's shoulders. "Did they _feel_ as soft as they _looked?_ Were they **_worth_ **the SIC flattening you onto your aft?"

It was a long moment of silence and growing amusement before the quiet 'Yes...' sent all the mecha present- except the embarrassed one- into rolling fits of laughter.

Swindle groaned again as his bondmates took their seats at the table.

Onslaught was the one to kick off the obligatory teasing. "We're gonna find out anyway tonight, so let's just hear it now- _why the frag did you do that?!"_

The reminder of the nightly merge sent a pang of arousal through the bond- no one exactly certain where it came from- as Swindle put on a brave face and sat back to sulk in his chair dramatically.

They were right after all- it was only a matter of time.

"Well, I _honestly_ don't know why I did it! I mean, one minute I'm trying to retreat with the others-then I saw those damned Protectobots ahead of me. So I ducked behind a rock, and decided to climb the ledge!"

His arms dropped from defensive to distracted as his fans clicked on. "And he was just... _ **There** **!**_ I didn't realize I was that far behind lines ya know? And his wings... The light caught them, and that white was just so damn... _shiny."_

Brawl laughed as he nodded his agreement with a rather husky "Yeah they are!", only to be elbowed by a half-hearted Swindle as his faceplates burned.

"Next thing I knew, I was reaching out. Primus his polish is like mesh, and his field was so... so alive."

The room was quiet as they collectively took the brunt of Swindle's sudden arousal.

"What'cha mean _alive?_ I thought he was an 'emotionless drone'."

Brawl hummed quietly, muttering 'Unless he's with that chatty sniper...' under his breath.

Swindle fluffed his plating in both agreements and acknowledgment. "Oh _no my mechs_ , that field was... it felt..." The flush through the bond had the entire gestalt shuddering before Swindle sighed. "...You'll feel it."

Blast Off had to manually reset his plating to collect himself, and was the first to recollect himself. "Why the need to touch though? I thought Barricade trouncing your aft about twenty-five thousand vorn ago for that shoddy ammo turned you off your Praxian kink."

Swindle shrugged in the most honest way his gestalt had ever seen. "I don't know, maybe it was the moment? Maybe the fact that the SIC is untouchable, and he was right there in servo's reach? Maybe it was the battle high?"

Blast off chuckled. "Maybe it's that old urge to keep his shiny aft to yourself?"

To everyone's surprise, Vortex chimed in. "He _is_ shiny though... No chance to ruin the paint when you're Prime's prized tactician and got stuck behind a desk because of it." 

Brawl huffed a chuckle that didn't help the energy in the room. "Gotta admit, _I'd ruin that paint if I had a chance."_

Blast Off was the first to break, coming across the table in the usual way their gestalt showed their affection with a rather possessive _"I'll ruin your paint!"_

It was easily dismissed how random flashes of crisp white and black flashed through their sparks periodically through the night.

Not like it was the first time they allowed a little fantasy into their nights.


	3. Bad for Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations for captured mecha can be difficult, especially when one can't keep their cool.

Now, an important aspect of running a business is knowing when to stop dealing with certain customers.

There can be a variety of reasons- maybe the customer is simply not interested, maybe the situation surrounding the sale could get you in potential trouble, or maybe even a personal problem relating to the way you deal with the customer.

All of these are rather valid reasons to end a transaction!

But sometimes, in a strike of either foolish optimism or outright denial, these concerns are ignored.

Sometimes _repeatedly!_

Now, that's not entirely bad for business if the sales keep rolling in, but it could be bad for the store's reputation! Or even yourself!

If only I could have admitted that sooner, I might not be in the Autobot brig right now, staring up at the beautiful visage of their Second in Command- highlighted breathtakingly by the blue of the bars of my cell.

Such crisp features, such intense optics...

It was a physical accomplishment not to smack my helm against the wall when he quirked a brow.

Sweet Solis Prime Vortex is going to have a field day!

"Anything to say, Swindle, or did I come down here for nothing?"

Frag me.

In both ways.

Please.

"Well, I have an offer of course! You need Intel on mighty Meg's plan, and I have something I want!"

I put on my best smile. I felt the roll of his optics as he turned away without a word. My spark studdered in my chest when his wings flicked dismissively.

"H-hey! Don't you want the info?!"

Prowl stopped in time with my pedes. I was inches from the bars, and he was a single step from the door.

I felt my spark freeze in its rotation when blue optics illuminated his shoulder, no other feature was visible past the canting of his wings. He was picturesque in his authority, lit by his own optics. His black was as glossy as the dark cycles, yet his whites shined like Luna-1 at the peak of shift exchange. 

"The only thing I will offer you is your freedom. _Only_ after your Intel checks out, _and_ after whatever device Megatron is building has been successfully destroyed."

His voice was like molten slag rolling through the Sea of Rust. 

Primus.

Wait, what did he say? Just my freedom?

That's a shitty-

"Deal."

Frag.

Primus that smirk was sexy.

...Onslaught will never let me live this down.

Fraaaaag. 


	4. Plans

The crash onto this mudball was hard on all of us, Bots and Cons alike.

But Megatron...

He went off the deep end.

It...

It frightened me.

It frightened _us._

We knew our fear was not misplaced, as many of the cons that actually survived the crash showed less and less enthusiasm for each chance to fight the Autobots.

_We were losing._

I could see our leader was trying to take us out with him.

And the _Gestalts_...

We were dangerous to him. Megatron feared us.

I could see that through the way he treated the Constructicons.

Constantly keeping them busy- keeping them _**separated.**_

We can't _**combine** _when we're _**separated**_.

Now, as I stroked over Vortex'- for once peaceful- face and looked over the rest of my recharging gestaltmates, I knew something had to change. We wouldn't survive this war otherwise.

I closed my eyes as I tried to think of my contacts.

Who could I reach? Who owed me a favor large enough to save us? Who would risk going against Megatron to pay back a wartime debt?

...

No one. No one will.

No one would ever.

Not with how crazy Megatron had gone.

Not for a gestalt of violent, crazy, self-centered, standoffish, greedy Mecha like _us_.

Not when they could let us die and never have to lift a finger. Never have to repay what they owed. 

Perhaps it was cosmic karma? 

I spent all these vorn trying to provide for us, to _protect us,_ and at the time we needed these contacts I've so meticulously crafted-

They're useless. 

Every single out I've created is useless.

I pulled my field close as our dwindling use to the Decepticon cause pulled to the forefront of my mind.

Everything we could do, the Constructicons could do better. We were thoroughly outshined in every way.

With the fight on such small fields now, I could see there wasn't enough room for two sets of combiners on this mudball of a planet...

I let my helm touch the knee I had drawn to my chestplates.

All the while, Vortex continued to snooze peacefully beside me.

With a flash of automatic lighting cutting through the darkness to blind me, I had a thought!

Okay, more of a stroke of distracted inspiration, _but still!_

I felt my grin spread as my gestalt started to wake with various levels of displeasure, just in time for a ship-wide order called us all to the bridge deck.

Just like that, I had a plan to save our lives.

All we had to do was survive long enough for me to set it up.

Brawl gave me a confused look on our way out the door. I touched the center of his palm with my pointer finger as we walked toward the door, giving him my best businessman smile.

He shook his head and laughed.

He knew that meant I had a plan.


	5. Striking a Deal

With worry etched into every line of his frame, Prowl desperately tried to figure out Megatron's current scheme.

He was stealing the most random things!

A radio antenna, the decorative ice cream off the top of a merchant's van, several traffic cones, half a ton of emerald, and numerous organic bird-shaped lawn ornaments colored with a particular shade of pink?!

It was too illogical to follow, and nearly sending him into a crash whenever a new item was added to the growing list.

Needless to say, the last thing he wanted at the moment was a private comm from Optimus requesting him in the comms room.

But, that's what he received.

Dutifully, Prowl rose.

He had not expected to see Swindle on the screen, nor did he expect the room to be barren save for Optimus and Jazz.

The video quality was abnormally... _choppy_.

Optimus greeted him with a nod.

Swindle didn't hesitate.

"Okay, so. I need to propose a deal to you."

Jazz' visor reset within the time perimeter suited to his amused range.

"What, no banter?"

"Mech, Meg's is losing it, as I'm certain you've realized. However, I also am not stupid. Without a doubt, he's going to downsize his combiners soon with the way the fights have been going."

Wings flicked as the mood in the room shifted.

This was something Prowl had already calculated with a certainty of 98%. 

Jazz was now paying rapt attention, even going so far as to sit up straight in his chair.

Seriousness looked good on the normally lax mech. It was a surprising reminder that he was- infact- the leader of their Special Operations unit. 

"I... We're not the Constructicons. When it comes down to us or them, I'm not going to be the fool that assumes it's going to be us. So, here's my deal-"

Watching the nervous reset of Swindle's shoulders revealed the decidedly earthen background to his call.

Optimus seemed surprised by the revelation. His optics met with Prowl's for a brief moment.

Prowl acknowledged him with a wing flick, but nothing more.

"I tell you everything I can about the 'all-powerful superweapon' Megatron thinks he can build out of earthen plastic, and give you any possible ins I can. I can give you as detailed-well, detailed as possible- map of the Nemesis, as well as the site that the weapon is being built in- Vortex has been working the site, so it would be built off his memory. By the pits, if it's possible I'll even try to give you a path to the corrupted warlord himself! In exchange, you get my gestalt and I _out of here!_ I don't care if we're refugees or prisoners, but it's better than dead."

The desperation in the con's tone was the only thing that held off Prowl's incoming processor crash at the idea of a plastic superweapon- no matter the sarcastic tone in Swindle's vocalizer.

Jazz' optic band darkened. "And why shoul' we trust ya? You have a rep for double crossin'."

The look on his face spoke leagues. Prowl felt his wings twitch with a protective empathy he usually reserved for Bluestreak.

Jazz' visor flashed with amusement at the twitch. 

"I... I honestly don't know how to prove how serious I am. He's fucking building a weapon out of LAWN FLAMINGOS!"

The way he clenched his servos, the nervous glance over his shoulder, the deep vents- this was a mech pushing back panic.

Prowl's wings flicked in a rare show of surprise. Jazz' head turned to him with a surprised flicker of his visor, looking him up and down.

A wordless confirmation ping sated the concerned Ops mecha, acknowledging his coding was in a tizzy over the distressed mecha. 

After all, his final place was with the homicide and tracking units- but his calling had always been search and rescue for younglings. 

"You will send your current coordinates, and an ops team will come to verify your processing state."

The coordinates arrived before Prowl had even finished talking.

"Who all is with you?"

"No one."

The handheld camera panned a full circle, showing a barren desert landscape. Bold, to call them in the middle of the desert. But smart, to convince them of no cover for an ambush.

No wonder he was nervous.

"And we are to believe you are contacting us without your gestalt present?"

Swindle shifted nervously once more.

"They... Don't know I'm doing this. Not yet. I didn't want to risk one of them blabbing to Megatron and us winding up trapped... or dead. They won't argue with the plan though, and I'll fill them in next time we merge. If we have a plan, we have direction."

Prowl hummed his understanding as Mirage and Bumblebee joined them in the room.

The silence reigned for a moment as the high command spoke over comms.

Swindle nodded his understanding, optics occasionally on the sky to monitor for seekers.

Optimus' servo rose to end the call, but Prowl stopped him with a light touch.

"For clarification, this is by no means acceptance of your plea. You will be assessed on behalf of your gestalt, and we will discuss details when we arrive."

Prowl closed the call after receiving a nod of understanding.

Jazz' surprised look was dismissed with another wing flick, making it the seven-point-five steps to the door before turning slightly. "Are you coming?" Jazz shook his head, grinning as Ops immediately turned into their own little world.

Bubbly, happy, and deceptively air-headed. 

Deadly, deceitful, and never to be fully trusted.

A half touch of Mirage's servo on his waist was the last he saw of the noble, but he knew the other remained close in case of ambush.

Primus help him if Bluestreak intends to follow through on his intent to become an Ops sniper. 


	6. Making Plans

Swindle tried not to seem too twitchy as the Jazz went through his coding.

He had been asked to sit cross-legged on the ground for ease of containment, but felt substantially better when the green jeep set a hologram to cover them before sitting down himself to maintain the image of a barren desert. 

Fairly difficult, considering this was the equivalent of sitting still while a rattlesnake curled around him, hissing and shaking its tail with utmost amusement as venom dripped from its fangs. 

The smallest- Bumblebee- was frowning more and more with each second that passed, tied to Jazz through a hardline link to monitor his superior's code for alterations from Swindle himself.

Mirage was nowhere to be seen, but Swindle knew he was nearby.

Prowl was already going through the data packet he surrendered on a tablet that held all the promised information- in its incomplete form, of course. They wouldn't get the full version until they had discussed further details regarding the safety of the gestalt.

Overall, everyone was nervous until Jazz nodded, unplugging and immediately initiating a standard clean-up routine as a final pre-medic check for viruses.

Mirage decloaked and lowered his gun. Swindle tried his best to suppress his shudder of fear behind his best business smile.

"He's bein' legit." Jazz shrugged slightly as he looked at Prowl, curious as to what the Tactician will decide.

It was a long moment of silence as the Enforcer scrolled through the datapad, but eventually, he nodded to Optimus.

The Prime's smile could be seen behind his battle mask as Prowl handed Swindle back the pad. "Upload everything I need onto here. I have given myself wireless access, and the encryption on it should be sufficient to keep Soundwave from realizing I'm downloading off of it without prior access."

Swindle nodded as he plugged in to do so, still cross-legged where he was told to sit. As he uploaded, Prowl spoke.

"Since I am the highest authority authorized to deal with high-risk defectors, you and your gestalt will answer _directly_ to me. Should I be unavailable or indisposed, Jazz is an acceptable substitute. Unless approached directly, do not contact Optimus with anything- you are still Decepticons in the eyes of the system, and you cannot be trusted too closely without monitoring near our Prime. Am I clear so far?"

Swindle nodded, unable to speak around his suddenly dry throat and barely able to hear over his pounding spark.

They had said yes. 

Holy Primus, they said _yes._

Prowl nodded once as he kept his eyes on Swindle.

"When you are extracted, I will personally address your gestalt's rooming and basic needs, pending approval of our medic. I cannot allow you full entry as an Autobot due to the circumstances you came to us in, and how late it is in this damned war, but if you are willing to help us with information we can make this as painless as possible. For now, it would be best if you returned to the Nemesis and inform your gestalt of our agreement."

Jazz hummed, cocking a hip and placing a servo on the rather attractive dip it caused in his waist. "Ah'd say the best bet for getting you all out 's the next battle you're in, one'a ya should 'go down in battle with injuries'-" The playful flash of a visor and air quotes helped clarify the cop-out."-and obviously the rest of the gestalt should swarm in to try tah' help the downed mech. If ya'll happen to get captured, and taken as prisoners... well, Megsy will have a good reason to know you're missin'. An' _Obviously_ we're no' gonna give 'em back a whole gestalt w'tout a fight this late in tha' war."

Swindle nodded, shrugging it off. "I'll try to jump you, do what you need to."

Jazz' grin was lethal.

Swindle swallowed nervously. 

Prowl nodded once, already flicking his wings in a rather seeker-like dismissal. "He will not damage you permanently." 

Jazz grin fell slightly. 

"I look forward to working with you, Swindle."

Swindle's spark nearly stopped in its casing, but he still managed to look charming.

"I'm lookin' forward to stealing as much info as I can before the next battle."

Prowl's smirk almost made him regret this. 

Primus, at least he was pretty.


	7. A Praxian's Stance

"Are you sure you wish to take on this responsibility, Prowl?"

Optimus was eying him curiously as they walked down the empty halls of the early morning Arc. Jazz had sidestepped them fairly soon after entering the ship, disappearing into the darkness with his most harmless smile. 

"To plan!" He had said, oh so cheerily. 

Prowl could only simulate what went on in those darkened sub halls with very low accuracy. 

Instead, he flicked his wings dismissively and met Optimus' optics with a casual glance of confusion. 

"Of course I do Optimus, or I wouldn't have said so in the presence of Swindle. I am the most qualified to take on the responsibility, as well as the best-suited coding wise."

"That I do not doubt Prowl, but I am merely questioning how much you have in your cube. You are quite the busy mech, especially considering the youngling you took on. Have you asked Bluestreak's opinions on you possibly taking on more mecha prior to this?" Optimus carefully chose not to look at his second in command, instead peering into an empty rec room on the left.

Prowl hummed. "It is not his choice as to where I put my time, energy, or creds. However, to soothe your processor- he has mentioned- multiple times- he might enjoy a sibling one day." Prowl flicked his wing as he tilted his head slightly to the left. "He misses being a sibling." 

Optimus slowed his steps, knowing he had chosen to approach the topic poorly. 

Prowl followed his slow until they stopped, staring intently at the semi over his shoulder until he met the Praxian's optics. 

"It is your job to lead this war, Optimus. You have done a fantastic job at that so far. I _understand_ your concern with my decision to take on not one, but _five_ Decepticon defectors- especially this late in the war. Even more understandably with my position in the military. I assure you, I will not allow them to undermine our efforts, nor will I become... _sloppy_ and allow them to learn things that neither they- nor anyone else- should _ever know of."_

Optimus nodded understandingly, his helm bowed slightly. "I und-"

"Allow me to finish."

Prowl turned to face the semi with the same look that caught Optimus' attention in the ruins of Praxus. 

"You have no right to judge my personal ability to rear bitlets, nor do you have the ability to speak on 'the depths of my cube', as you so delicately put it. I am aware of my limits, as my health requires me to be. Do not judge my ability and my code."

"Prowl, I cannot help but doubt what I do not know about. You have been... notoriously quiet about your coding. I do not see how field enforcement of homicide translates to children and defecting militia."

Prowl chuckled quietly, flicking his wings as he began to turn away. 

"Then perhaps you should put your faith in me, and leave personal affairs alone."

"Or perhaps you should allow yourself a friend, Prowl. One that you did not raise. _One that isn't Praxian_. All you do is work, and you always just say no one will understand." Optimus' shoulders fell as he placed a servo on Prowl's shoulder. "We can understand, if you give us the chance and time you've devoted to Bluestreak. I know your city had-" Optimus winced at the look in Prowl's optics, sighing heavily. 

"Your city _has_ reservations of those born outside her walls. You have detached yourselves so heavily from the rest of Cybertronian society that no one noticed her bombing until the smoke began to smother Nova Cronum. Prowl, we don't even know your _coding before you were enlisted."_

Prowl lightly gripped Optimus' servo, sliding it off his shoulder before meeting his optics.

"I am well aware you count Praxus a total loss. I am reminded every time a mecha looks at me with pity and sorrow, claiming I cannot be blamed for the results of what happened after- the so-called damage to my personality circuits. But as long as one mecha with Praxian coding in their cortex has a spark that spins she will _never_ be dead."

Optimus dropped his servo and took a step back, only for that step to be followed by the angered Datsun.

"That basic disrespect for those who have passed- to write them off so easily while some still mourn them- is what makes it impossible for you to ever become closer to me as a mecha. You should know it isn't _impossible_ for a Praxian to make a friend because Bluestreak is so close to the twins. Smokescreen, although I do not know him quite as well, is quite close to Tracks. I did not even raise him, so you cannot claim a familial bias."

Prowl stepped back, inventing slowly and wishing he had a table. "You see only what you want to, Optimus Prime of Iacon. So perhaps, for _once,_ you can look past the doorwings that identify who I am and look at me as a mecha. I have proven myself capable over all these years- in the military, in Bluestreak, and soon, in _civilians._ " 

Optimus reset his optics. 

"I plan to get their consent to strip them of weapons. I will have a small safe installed that will notify both Jazz and myself if it is opened that will hold a single piece for each f them. I will have them reverted as much as possible to civilian structure, and they will remain near me. I plan on removing a few walls to extend my own hab to accommodate them, where they will always be watched by myself, Bluestreak, or Jazz once I have spoken to him and given him express permission to be in my quarters unattended."

Prowl turned his back to Optimus, fixing both his wings and his stance to that of a proud enforcer before pausing slightly. "Stop doubting me, Optimus. You hired me for a reason." 

Optimus didn't stop him as he walked away, but he did call out with one final question. "Why Jazz?"

Prowl paused, glancing back. "Because should I fail, he _will_ contain any fallout before lives are placed at risk. I do not need his acknowledgment to know he will do his duty." 


	8. Breaking Down Walls

Bluestreak's wings were fluttering excitedly as he gripped the sledgehammer in his servos. "Are we _really_ allowed to do this Prowl?"

Prowl chuckled and flicked his wings. "Of course little one, I would not get your hopes up if we couldn't." 

Bluestreak squealed slightly, shifting from pede to pede as he looked to an amused Smokescreen. 

The elder shrugged his wings, removing his right pede from behind his left and straightening up. "Well, I can understand why Prowl asked _us_ to break down the walls before the construction team shows up. In Praxus, if was very common for law enforcement and the soon-to-be-neighbors to lend a helping hand when someone was in need." Smokescreen cast a smile at Prowl, winging an affectionate sign.

"Smokescreen is right. Entire families would show up to help, even donate materials, food, or other items they would need until they could get back on their feet. It's why Praxians are so tight nit- at the end of the day, it's all about the support system our city gave us." Prowl stroked the digits on his right hand across Bluestreak's chevron before tapping the tip of his nose. 

"Go ahead Blue. Break down the wall so we can make room for the others moving in." 

Bluestreak giggled as he swung the hammer, only managing to get it stuck in the wall. 

Prowl's wings twitched as the older two helped to pull it out, before grabbing their own hammers and getting the wall down in record time. 

By the time the demo team came, they mostly had to help pick up the larger chunks and minor fixes- much to their confusion. 

Bluestreak had a hard time ignoring the mutters of the crew, ranging from 'he just doesn't want us near him' to 'bothering a drone's recharge space is creepy'.

Instead, he took to teasing Smokescreen in wingspeak and hovering over Prowl's shoulder protectively as he read encrypted reports. 

The most interesting point of the evening was when Ops showed up to bug the room appropriately. Jazz had sat on the couch beside Bluestreak- across from Prowl- sharing a cube and chatting about the most mundane things. 

Oddly enough, Prowl seemed to enjoy it. He gave the minibots no attention at all, as they crawled through the walls and ceiling, rigging the room with heat sensors and other triggers that only Ops really needed to know about. Instead, he spoke with Jazz about the weather, the Energon quality, Bluestreak's recent sniping record, and even the polish Prowl used about a month ago that still had his polish gleaming under the lowlights of the lounge area. 

There was something special about the way they could talk about everything and literally nothing, and Bluestreak was _enthralled_. 

Prowl had hidden his smile behind his Energon when Bluestreak hesitantly asked about it in wingspeak- trying to look as casual as possible. 

Jazz had beamed brightly, patting his knee. "Well, Tha's because Polyhexians 'ave a similar social set to Praxians. We keep our 'eads down, and our noses t' ourselves... But we still know wha' 't means to have loyalty t' those tha' accept us. Giv' a lil' get a lil' ya feel?" 

Bluestreak flushed, nodding. "I apologize for interrupting, I was trying not to."

Jazz waved it off with a smile. "You were polite abo't it mech, no pain." 

The Ops minis soon left, but Jazz remained. 

"So, I 'ear ya got a plan fer a safe?"

"I do. I don't want to leave them utterly defenseless in case of an emergency, in which we will both be notified of their access. I assume you have a safe of such caliber?"

"Ah might hav'a spare." Jazz snickered and struck a pose.

"I figured you would. I also assume you've heard I'm planning to grant you unlimited access to my quarters."

Bluestreak blinked. 

"Yeh, I 'eard tha too. Kinda surprised 't wasn' Ironhide 'r Ratch."

"I'm afraid they don't have the clearance for some of the items you'll find in here."

"An' I do?"

Prowl was the one to smile this time- a sight that had both Bluestreak and Smokescreen stunned into stillness.

"Pit no, but you know it all anyway. That is your duty, as mine is keeping this army running."

Bluestreak flicked his wing in semblance of a question. "What exactly is your job, Jazz? I understand I have no right to know, but as you will be in here frequently... I can't help but wonder if I'm entitled to an answer, even under the table. I want to know when to make myself scarce." 

Smokescreen set his empty cube down, nodding his goodbye as he left the room. Jazz chuckled as he gave a toast to the mecha on the way out. 

"By tha' rules o' tha army, yer not owed or entitled to a thing. But, yer Prowler's bit."

Jazz' visor flashed, and Bluestreak knew those hidden optics were on him.

"I am Ops. Tha ya know."

Bluestreak nodded, gripping his cube a little tighter, and perking his wings to listen better. 

"Ah'm the head of Ops. Tha' means ah know everything, even thin's Prowler doesn' know. I got secrets I take ta mah grave, an' even more tha' I take farther than tha'."

Bluestreak stared into his Energon, nodding before taking a long sip. "So... How ready do I need to be to shoot if something gets out?"

Jazz shrugged. 

"D' ya still got tha' pistol ya filched in yer thigh?"

Bluestreak paused mid-sip, swallowing slowly before cracking a grin. 

Prowl quirked a brow.

Bluestreak shook his helm as he chuckled quietly.

"I see."

Jazz grinned and crossed his left leg over his right knee, swirling his Energon with one servo. 

"So, tell me bout wha' the twins think 'f ya wanting to snipe for me." 

Bluestreak nearly spit out his Energon. Prowl had to duck his wings as he laughed. 

Jazz simply smiled. 


End file.
